


nine: the Kingslayer’s whore

by wordtheef



Series: thirteen ways of looking at a Lannister [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 16:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20392369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordtheef/pseuds/wordtheef
Summary: She’s already whimpering.





	nine: the Kingslayer’s whore

She’s whimpering under him.

He’s already reminded her to be quiet and won’t do it again, and truthfully he likes this — how she holds herself tight and slowly slowly slowly loses control — like a garment that breaks a seam _here_, frays at the hemline _there_, the decay almost invisible — until it disintegrates all at once into a rag.

Brienne disintegrates.

First her breath goes fast, then her eyes close. She starts to clutch at him; she starts to make noise.

“Quiet,” he tells her then, rubbing her mouth with his thumb. Sometimes she bites it; sometimes he kisses her. Punishment. She hates being kissed, or at least hates when it’s him.

He does it now, thrusting in on a long hard motion to make her gasp and arch before he leans down, taking her mouth while she swears, grits her teeth, kissing back.

He pulls her bottom lip between his teeth, gentle, making the smallest motions of his hips. “Brienne, look at me.”

“I hate you,” she says, not opening her eyes.

He laughs. Reaches down to find her clit.

She pushes at him — another complaint — and yes, he’s been rude. _Greedy_, she’s called him a dozen dozen times_, _saying — anything.

_I only want one thing. That isn’t greed, _he told her.

_It is when it isn’t yours to take._

Their useless maester said there are dozens of worlds, hundreds or thousands or more. Universes layering each other like ice surrounding a single blade of grass, like he’s seen it happen in the freak, violent spring storms at Casterly.

Jaime cares little for philosophy and less for realities that might or might nor be true, but he knows this: There is no world where she is not his.

There is no world he will not find her and take her and fill her, complete her, be part of the enormous circle they make together. _Mine_, he says. Mine.

He puts his thumb in her mouth and she’s gone far enough now to accept it and even suck a little; he pulls it out and kisses her again, slipping out as he does, and oh doesn’t she make a lovely noise, repeated now as he goes back in, changing pitch when he rubs her clit again, faster now it’s slick and damp, faster now as she angles herself and wraps her legs over his hips, scratching at his back and shoulders, digging into the flesh of his ass.

This is what he came here for tonight. She’d snipped at him over supper, said something rude about his swordplay. He couldn’t say _You’ve never complained when my sword is in your mouth _— not right there in front of everyone, could he?

He only gave her a _look_.

Watched her blush, hot.

“Quiet,” he says now, hoping she keeps on being loud. “Shh.”

Brienne says something that might have been a harsh word if it wasn’t delivered on a gasp, if she didn’t clench on him inside and thrash, if he weren’t already on the edge and crashing together with her into something clear and bright and sharp as shattered ice.

He catches his breath eventually and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ears; she frowns. He slips out and kisses her and she shudders again. Her legs are splayed open and loose, and her eyes aren’t focused.

Whatever is between them is worth the cost. Shame, guilt: fine. Even her hatred is fine. The gold Dragon he leaves behind is the cheapest part of the deal.


End file.
